Murdoc's greatest hits
by AbCarter
Summary: A series of Murdoc centered stories. What's it like being not your normal professional killer? rated for violence
1. Who by Fire

_A/N: This story is set around May 1989.  
Murdoc is not having a very good day.  
_

-oOo-

"Damn," he quietly swore to himself. His target had looked up, straight into his direction, and then made a run for it. Spotted.

Murdoc disassembled his rifle and packed it up. What had he been thinking? He'd been out of it for more than a year -- with the exception of that one exercise in humiliation -- what had made him think he could pick it up again just like that? He ran across the roof to the side of the building. He looked over the edge and dropped his bag in the dumpster below. He was about to climb over the edge to follow the bag down when he noticed the fire escape. That was better.

"Best to avoid broken bones for a while. I'm not Superman."

He ran down the stairs. Being Superman would certainly come in handy. He could fly off a building rather than doing the more metaphorical flying down the stairs. He would have caught up with his target before the man had reached the corner of the street. He could have used his laser eyes to set the guy or his clothes on fire, or burn a hole in his head. Or freeze him to death with a breathe of air. Imagine killing someone with your breath. Murdoc smirked: there were plenty of people with lethal breath.

He jumped to the ground from the last flight and retrieved his bag from the dumpster. He casually slung the bag over his shoulder and walked to the street. He should find his target again. He ran the possibilities of where to find him through his mind. Perhaps the man thought he was smart and he would try to leave town. That would only complicate matters a little bit. He would find him. He always did. He had a perfect record. Well, almost ...

It was safe to say he wasn't Superman. Yet, he had met his Kryptonite. Maybe he should pack it in. Quit. Lead a normal life with a nice, normal wife and a couple of nice, normal kids in a house with a nice picket fence. He shuddered. Well, surely there were more ways of normalcy than just one. Something bohemian would probably suit him better. Maybe he could become a chef and open up his own little restaurant: Aubergerie Murdoc.

He got to his truck, threw his bag on the backseat and climbed behind the wheel. Why had he gone back to this line of work? Why hadn't he started planning out a normal life while he was recovering from his last run in with Kryptonite? Because he had missed the hunt; that's why. Murdoc snorted. There were normal life jobs that involved hunting. Private Investigators hunted. Bounty hunters definitely hunted. And in both cases you were a lot less likely of having to deal with Kryptonite. Just a lot more likely of having to deal with pillocks. Although, being an assassin was no garantee of a pillock-free life, but usually you got paid for shooting them.

Maybe he should consider it though. New technologies were constantly developed. New and better technologies to hunt and trace people. One day, probably all people would get tagged with a chip in their ears, like cattle, and you could always follow them, where ever they went. That would pretty much take the fun out of the hunt. Worse yet: it would turn him into a prey. Murdoc didn't really see how that would be fun for him. It was much more fun to be the fox than the hare, except in a fox hunt.

Back to his own hunt and technology that was still in his favor. He pulled his bag from the backseat into the passenger seat and pulled a small box from it. A little blimp was moving towards the top of the screen. His target had decided to leave town, and take his own car. That wasn't very smart.

Murdoc closed his bag and put it on the floor. He turned the ignition of his truck and filed into traffic.

-oOo-

So, it wasn't exactly out of town. It was in a sleazy part of town, where no one would stay long if they had elsewhere to go. Lots of people didn't have elsewhere to go. Murdoc had parked his truck a couple of blocks away and taken out everything valuable. With any luck it would still be there when he got back in a couple of hours. He suspected it was more likely he had to walk back to civilization.

He passed an all night store and a couple of bums. Someone put a hand out to him and asked for some change. Or urged him to change his life. He didn't stop. His target had gone into a $20 a-night-hotel. It was time for a meet and greet.

There was a front desk, but there was no one behind it, save for a parakeet in a cage. He took the registration book and looked at the latest entry. Room 15. While he climbed the stairs he tried to think of a synonym for meet that would rhyme with a synonym for kill, shoot or stab.

He picked the lock of room 15. Taking cover behind the door frame he pushed the door open slowly. He heard some shuffling in the room. When he looked in he found it to be empty. The wind was blowing the curtains in. Twice. Twice in the same day he was given the slip by the same man.

Murdoc rushed over to the window and pounded the window sill in frustration. He saw a man sprinting down the alley. Murdoc made his resolve to hand in his resignation. First, he would catch this man and make him pay for the trouble he had put him through.

He threw his bag out into the alley and jumped out of the first story window after it. He stumbled forward when he landed. He quickly hid his bag behind a dumpster. He would come back for it later. He ran into the direction he had seen the man leave. At the corner he paused to look both ways. There was a running man to his right. Murdoc turned that way.

Why was this guy making it so hard on himself? Had he never heard of the expression: when people say you're dead, lie down? The man he was chasing looked around, saw him and picked up pace. He turned around a corner into another alley. Murdoc ran after him. He slowed down and stopped when he saw this alley had a dead end.

"Got you."

"Not yet."

The man jumped from behind a dumpster and tried to hit Murdoc over the head with something. Murdoc's quick reflexes did not fail him. He turned and kicked the man in the stomach. The man folded and went down when he received a chop to the neck. Murdoc circled the man.

"You want to turn this into a fight?" He smiled wickedly. "Fine by me. You're only postponing the inevitable." He took a few steps away from the man. "C'mon, give it your best."

The man scrambled to his feet and stood, facing Murdoc. Suddenly he had a knife in his hand. Murdoc was a little surprised he hadn't seen where he'd gotten it from. His distraction lasted only a short moment as the man wasted no time for Murdoc to get used to the situation and came storming straight at him, knife pointed forward. Murdoc jumped aside, grabbed the man's arm and used the man's own momentum to throw him against a wall. He twisted his arm behind his back and grabbed his neck. He pushed the man against the wall.

"You want to play games?" He whispered in his ear. "Do you think I like to play games in this merry month of May?" The man didn't respond. "Do I have to twist your arm to get an answer?"

The man cried out in pain as Murdoc twisted his arm further. "No!"

"You're wrong. I like to play games, just not right now."

Murdoc twisted his arm to the point of nearly breaking it. The man dropped his knife and Murdoc quickly picked it up. He stabbed the man in the side of his abdomen, then in the side of his neck. He let go of the man as he started to slip down the wall.

The man fell to his back. He gurgled and spasmed. Murdoc planted the knife in his heart. A little blood squirted out and hit him in the eye.

"Damn." He should be more careful. Particularly in this day and age. It was high time he quit.

He took of his gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket. He took a handkerchief from his other pocket and cleaned the blood from his face. Definitely time for him to quit this line of work. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and started walking towards the street, meanwhile composing a letter of resignation.

"Dear members of the board of HIT. After working for your organization for twenty wonderful years I feel it is time for my retirement. I'd like to explore what other options there are in the world while I am still young and healthy enough to enjoy them. I have given you my best years, but lately I feel I'm running out of creativity."

That was it. Murdoc smiled to himself. He had let this man give him the slip twice because that was new for him. He needed the excitement of the hunt, but also new thrills. After all, how many different ways were there to kill someone by fire? Or by water for that matter, he wondered as he jumped a puddle. He tried to remember who he had killed by fire, and just how many of those kills were unique. Unique in any way other than it was a new person each time. Not all were original. He had lost his touch as an artiste long ago. Not even the reasons why he killed them were unique. Who had he killed for their greed? Who for his hunger? Who in power? Too many to remember. He had done it all.

All except for disabling his Kryptonite. Maybe that was for the best. It was his Kryptonite that made him Superman. There cannot be light without darkness. Good without evil. Superman without Kryptonite.

His bag was still lying behind the dumpster. He slung it over his shoulder and went into the main street to find a bar where he could clean himself up.

-oOo-

"Do you have a restroom?"

The bartender looked at him. Murdoc stayed in the shadows so only part of his face was visible.

"Restroom is for paying customers only."

"Naturally. I'll have a beer." Murdoc came closer and threw some money on the counter.

"Restroom's in the back." The bartender nodded in the general direction of the back as he took the money and replaced it with a bottle of beer.

"Thank you." Murdoc managed a smile.

In the restroom he put his bag underneath the sink and hung his jacket on the edge of one of the divider walls between the toilets. No doors, how ... picturesque was the only word that sprang to mind. He had even lost his creativity describing the world around him. He probably shouldn't become a writer in his new life.

He turned on the water and washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. A new life. A new life would require a new face. He turned his head a little to the right to get a good look at the scars. He'd been steadily building up on them for the past decade. Burns from the times he tried to touch Kryptonite.

He took some paper towels and dried his face and hands. He folded up his jacket and stuffed it in his bag. He picked it up and left the restroom. He saw a pay phone at the end of the little hallway. He found some change in his pocket and smirked.

Murdoc picked up the receiver, inserted the coins and dialed a number.

"Phoenix Foundation. How may I help you?" A friendly woman's voice spoke in his ear.

"I'd like to talk to MacGyver." Who better to tell first about his retirement than his nemesis?

"And who shall I say is calling?"

"An old friend."

"One moment please."

"I'll hold." Murdoc studied the graffiti on the wall while he waited.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Mr MacGyver is abroad at the moment and won't be back in until Monday. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No, thank you. I'll call back later." He hung up. Perhaps it was better if MacGyver didn't know yet. After all, he was just another Superman that needed his Kryptonite. Murdoc picked up his bag. Now, what could possibly be MacGyver's Kryptonite?

-oOo-

_A/N: This is the first in a series of Murdoc-centered fics I'm planning on doing. Good idea, bad idea? Let me know._


	2. Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

_A/N: This story is set in the early 1970s.  
Murdoc on the prowl._

-oOo-

She raised one eyebrow as she looked at him. He pointed at his hair.

"My college buddies and I had a bet. I lost."

"I thought they usually shaved your head if you lost."

"My friends, and I use the term loosely, thought that this would be more embarrassing."

"It is. It makes you look like an aubergine."

"Thank you." Murdoc gave her a rueful smile. "Most people tell me I look like an egg-plant."

She smiled. "I'm sure you could always dye it in your own color."

"Why would I do that? Purple hair is a great conversation starter. Would you have given me another look if my hair had been some boring sandy brown?"

"Probably not."

"Right. The purple stays. For a while. Can I buy you a drink? I promise if you ignore the hair color I can still be quite charming."

"I'm sure you are, but I'm here with some friends."

Murdoc turned his head in the direction she indicated. She waved at three women sitting around a little table. They waved back.

"There's three of them. They can keep each other company. Why don't you keep me company?"

"It's my round," she confided in him.

"And they would hate for you to get out of that one."

"Exactly." She glanced over at her friends and then turned back to Murdoc. "Tell you what. I'll go back to my friends now, but if in about half an hours time your purple hair hasn't managed to start up another conversation, you can buy me that drink."

"Agreed."

She turned to the landlord and ordered four half pints. She threw Murdoc a smile as she carried the last of the glasses to her friends. Murdoc watched her walk away. He toasted her and her friends and turned back to facing the bar. He finished his drink, ordered another one and took it to a table in the corner where he had still a good view of the women.

He had half an hour to spare. He took a book from his shoulder bag and sat down to read.

-oOo-

"No wonder no one is talking to you."

Murdoc looked up at the disturbance. He was happy to see it was the woman from before.

"You're sitting in the corner, reading a book. No amount of purple hair is going to make up for that."

Murdoc smiled. He closed the book and put it face up on the table. "I guess I cheated a little. I'm sorry. Please, have a seat."

She sat down.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Half a pint. Er, seen as you cheated, make that a full pint."

"Right away." Murdoc got up.

A few minutes later he returned with their drinks and a packet of crisps. He set them down on the table and slipped back in his seat. The woman had picked up his book. She put it down.

"I hope you don't mind I was reading the comments you wrote in the margins. Thanks. Cheers." She took a sip from her larger.

"I don't mind. I hope you agree to some of them."

"Agree?! When you wrote here." She picked up the book and leafed through it to find the right page. "'Again Rachel knocks me a week from Sunday. How could we have let this happen?' I felt exactly the same way. When I first read Silent Spring I must have been in a coma for four months. I kept getting knocked a week from Sunday. I'm Eileen, by the way."

"Simon. Do you think these things are still going on?"

"Think! I know they are still going on!"

"C'mon. It's been nearly ten years since the publication of Silent Spring. Surely companies and governments have learned by now."

Eileen gave a hearty laugh. "First of all, many of these toxins are persistent. They could have been dumped in the environment a hundred years ago, and a hundred years from now still be as toxic as ever. Secondly, companies only feel they have a responsibility to their own profits. If they can make a profit poisoning us, they will poison us. And don't get me started on governments."

"You had a nasty run in with the government?" Murdoc asked. He took a sip from his drink and opened the packet of crisps.

"No, the run in with the government was actually rather clean. They blankly ignored everything I put forward to them."

"What kind of things did you put forward to them?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear all that. It's bad enough what you read in here. You wouldn't want it to come any closer."

"Ever since I've started reading Silent Spring I've been wondering whether there are carcinogens in hair dye, and whether my friends have actually tried to kill me."

"If they did I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose."

"You don't know my friends. Now tell me, why are you fighting with the government? Is it about hair dyes?"

"No, not hair dyes. Textile dyes."Eileen leaned forward and started in a conspiratorial whisper. "There's this local company, Stoke Chemical. They make industrial Textile dyes. Reds, pinks, greens, blues, the lot. I don't know why they are making a synthetic red, the Romans already knew how to make natural red dyes, but they make them synthetic. Anyway, that is not so important. What's important is that since a few years, thanks to this book, by the way." Eileen knocked on the cover with her right index finger. "Since a few years they can no longer dump their waste water on the Strine, you know the little stream up North."

"Yeah, I've been there. It used to be a little more brownish in the past than it is now. So, I guess the new policy is working."

"In part. They don't dump all their waste water on the Strine anymore, but they still dump some. Particularly when their own waste water facility is overflowing they dump on the Strine."

"You could say that was beyond their control."

"That's exactly what they are saying, but they're lying. I believe their facility is permanently too small for them, and I believe the local council knows about this, but isn't doing anything about it."

"How does the council know about it?"

"Stoke Chemical had to apply for a license when they wanted to expand a few years ago. Before that they had to get that license for their waste water facility. On that license it says how much waste water their facility can handle. On the other license it says how much waste water will be produced after the extension. That number is bigger than the waste water facility's capacity."

"Shouldn't they have built a larger waste water facility?"

"Of course. But that would have cost them money. And the Council didn't pressure them for it. I think they were confusing the numbers: the peak capacity of the facility can handle all the waste water."

"That's okay then, isn't it?"

"A facility can't constantly run on peak capacity."

"That is true."

"So, they keep on dumping on the Strine. Not as much as before, but still.."

"Perhaps it isn't so bad. I mean, the dyes color the water, but that doesn't mean they're toxic."

"Please. You've been to the Strine. Where is there more variety in vegetation? Where are there more birds and fish? Up the Strine from Stoke or down the Strine?"

"Up the Strine."

"Exactly. So don't tell me Stoke isn't dumping toxins. I get enough about that from them."

"You're confronting Stoke with this too?"

"Of course. I'm doing everything I can to make them stop. I petition; I picket. One time I even cut through their fence and took pictures of their practices. I've begun to hit a nerve too. They used to ignore me, but now they've realized I've got a following. People have started to listen to me. People with money and influence. People that can decide to buy their dyes elsewhere."

"I bet Stoke isn't liking that."

"Not one bit." She smiled. "Now Stoke is trying everything they can to discredit me. They had me arrested for the pictures I took."

"You did break into their facility."

"And I did my three months inside for trespassing. But it won't make me stop my quest. I won't stop until they stop dumping on the Strine." Eileen took one large swig from her drink. "What about you? Any big corporate toes you're treading on?"

"Hardly." Murdoc chuckled. "I study photography at the college here. And before you ask, I recycle all my chemicals. Mind you, mainly for financial reasons."

"Doesn't matter why you do it as long as you don't dump them in the environment."

"I'll drink to that."

Their conversation continued and moved on to talking about Silent Spring in more detail. Murdoc was delighted to see Eileen started to take a liking to him.

The landlord announced last call.

"Another one of the same?"

"Yes, no, make it a half pint this time."

"I'll be right back."

On his return Murdoc found Eileen reading his book again.

"Your friends seem to have deserted you."

"I know." Eileen briefly looked up from the book. "The moment they saw you reading Silent Spring they wanted to leave me here with you. They know I forget about them if there's a chance to talk about this book." She put it down. "They're right: I can't leave it alone."

"As long as you let me keep my copy, I don't mind."

"Oh, of course. I wouldn't take your copy." She pushed it across the table. "I think everyone should read this book. I've even been thinking of buying more copies and leaving them in random places where unsuspecting citizens can find them."

"I like that idea. Tell me when you'll start with that. I'll help you spread the word."

The lights in the pub were turned on.

"Oh dear, we're about to be thrown out."

"Drink up, I'll walk you home. That is, if you came walking and don't mind if I tag along on the way back."

"I came walking and I'd like the company." Eileen finished her drink, put down the glass and slipped on her coat. "Let's go, before they really throw us out."

Murdoc put his book in his bag and quickly followed her out.

Eileen lived not far from the pub and ten minutes later they arrived at her front door.

"This is where I live."

"Looks nice, by what I can tell from the street lights. You live here alone?"

"Yes, just temporary I hope. My roommate deserted me a couple of weeks ago. I hope to find a new one soon. I can't afford the rent on my own."

"I should go now." Murdoc offered his hand. "Thanks for talking to me about my hair color at the bar, and for a lovely evening after that."

"That's no way to say goodbye."

"No? Then what is?" The corners of Murdoc's lips curled up in a slightly deviant smile.

In reply Eileen put her hands behind his head and pulled him closer to kiss him.

"That's no way to say goodbye, either," Murdoc said, rubbing his nose against hers, his arms encircling her.

"Why not?"

"Because now I don't want to leave."

"Then don't."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Come inside."

-oOo-

Murdoc woke up and found Eileen staring at him. He moved up to lean on an elbow and brushed some locks of hair from her face.

"Your hair upon the pillow is like a sleepy golden storm."

"I like how you are poetic in the morning. Your hair just looks even more like an aubergine in the day light."

Murdoc wrinkled up his nose.

"Which has always been one of my favorite vegetables."

"Is that right?"

"Well ... Would you like some breakfast?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Or would you like to shower first? Or something else?"

"Breakfast first. No love on an empty stomach."

"Don't eat too much. There's no love on a full stomach either."

They got out of bed. Eileen slipped on a duster. Murdoc put on his underpants and his shirt and followed her out into the kitchen.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Some toast and marmite."

"Marmite." Eileen shivered.

"Marmite keeps mosquitoes at bay."

"It does? Still, we don't have much of a mosquito problem down here in October."

"I guess not. Some toast and jam then."

"Strawberry okay for you?"

"Perfect."

Eileen set the breakfast things on the table and turned around to make tea and toast.

"Could I have a banana."

"Sure." Eileen broke one of the hand and gave it to him.

They had a pleasant breakfast at the end of which Eileen confessed she had to go to work. Meaning that would be the end of their time together, for now.

Murdoc got dressed while Eileen was in the shower. After tying up his shoe laces he put on some surgical gloves and went to the bathroom.

Eileen stood in the tub taking a shower. Murdoc held his hands behind his back.

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking at you."

"You are naughty." Eileen splashed some water at him.

"Yes, very naughty."

Murdoc came closer. He put one hand behind her leg, just below the knee, and pulled. Eileen slipped. She hit her head against the wall and fell into the tub. Murdoc held her head down in the water until she stopped struggling.

"Slipped and drowned in the bath." Murdoc tsk-ed. "Now your eyes are soft with sorrow, but you only have yourself to blame. You should always remove the hair from the drain so it won't get clogged up. And perhaps you shouldn't have annoyed the people at Stoke Chemical."

Murdoc dried his gloved hands on a towel and left the bathroom. He returned a moment later with his bag. He took a camera from it.

"Say: deceased."

Then he took a nail brush from his bag and took Eileen's right hand. She had scratched his face with that one as she fell. He started cleaning her finger nails. When he was satisfied he dropped her hand back in the water. The tab was still running.

"What a waste of water."

He picked up his bag and went to the kitchen. He retrieved his banana peel from the bin and put it in a plastic bag he took from his bag. Then he did the dishes. He had forgotten which cup and plate he had used so he washed up everything, dried half the items and returned them to the cupboards, and left the rest to dry on the rack on the counter.

He found the vacuum cleaner, put in a new bag and vacuumed everywhere he might have been including the bed. The he replaced the new bag with the old one and put the new bag with the banana peel. He made the bed so it looked only one person had slept in it.

Satisfied with his own work he packed up everything. He threw one more look into the bathroom.

"You're right, my darling, that's no way to say goodbye."

Murdoc left. He wanted to buy some hair dye, a boring sandy brown.

-oOo-

_A/N: it just occured to me that it may have looked like Murdoc wasn't working on assignment here. He was. This hit was ordered by Stoke Chemical._


	3. I can't forget

_A/N: This story is set in 1986.  
Why did it take Murdoc seven years to come back for revenge after his first run in with MacGyver?_

-oOo-

Murdoc checked out the car. When meeting with clients, one required the right car, every real estate agent knew that. The client expects it. Murdoc loved self-fulfilling prophecies. They made his job easier: he didn't have to be the part; he just had to look the part. He straightened his tie. He looked the part today. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the door to the restaurant. Even his face looked the part. Maybe he should get the facial reconstructive surgery. He thought about it often enough. Having no distinguishing marks was an asset in his trade. He always decided against it. If needed he could get himself a smooth face with the aid of some latex and make up, such as today. The scars also attracted people to him. Some because they felt sympathy; others because they thought it made a man look dangerous. Either way, attraction was an asset too.

He decided that the car would do. He smiled at the valet parker. "I came in the Audi 5000."

"Right away."

He gave the young man a tip, not too generous, not too stingy, the right amount not to be remembered. He put on his driving gloves before he got in the car.

-oOo-

Murdoc pulled up in front of the suburbian house. He checked his watch: right on time. He got out, locked the car and walked up to the front door of the house. His knock was quickly answered. A skinny man, maybe an inch and a half taller than Murdoc wearing a suit and tie, opened the door and looked him up and down.

"You must be the realtor that the wife, ex-wife, sent?"

Murdoc tried his most pleasant smile. "How do you do? John Keller, real estate appraisals." Murdoc offered an ungloved hand. "I'm afraid I just ran out of business cards."

"Doesn't matter. I don't want one." The man pushed the door open a little further to let Murdoc come in.

Murdoc looked around the living room. He frowned at the wheel barrel of debris that stood next to the sofa. It seemed to hold the remains of what was once the fire place. "Some ... interesting decorating choices you have made."

"Yeah, well, if the wife had wanted to get a high price for the house on the market, she should have stayed with me until it was sold."

Murdoc smiled. "I'm not a prospective buyer. These sort of tricks don't work on me."

"Shouldn't you be writing things down?"

"Photographic memory. Is that the kitchen?"

"Sure." The man led the way and pushed open the kitchen door. "Got all the modern equipment a kitchen needs."

Murdoc looked around while he walked around. It was a nice kitchen. Too many cupboards for his taste: lots of storage space only lead to the collection of clutter. Some dirty dishes stood in the sink.

"Dish washer broken?"

"No, just saving up so I can run a full machine."

Murdoc nodded. His eye fell on a message board that hung on one of the walls. 'Don't forget' was printed on it in red, swirly letters. _I can't forget_. Murdoc put a hand up against his left cheek. _But I don't remember what_.

He dropped his hand. That was part of the reason he never had anything done about the scars. He wanted to know what had happened to him first. The doctor called it traumatic amnesia caused by a blow to the head combined with retrograde amnesia. In total about a day of his memory was gone. Possibly more.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the doctor had asked. Murdoc had just smiled at him. He could hardly tell him that his last memory was going into a hospital dressed as a nurse, now could he? How he got from that hospital to waking up in the next was gone from his mind. Or at least locked up in some inaccessible place. Six years ago the doctor had told him parts of his memory might come back, but it could also be lost forever.

Murdoc made an effort to return his attention to appraising. He mentioned the kitchen didn't have double glazing. The home owner shrugged in reply. He turned around and took Murdoc into the den.

The den was dimly lit due to drawn curtains. It was light enough for Murdoc to look around and get quite a fright when he spotted the snake terrarium on one side of the room. Murdoc didn't like snakes; he hadn't forgotten that.

The man noticed his hesitation of entering the room any further. "Afraid of snakes? They're harmless."

"Then why are they in a glass box?" Murdoc asked uneasily. He readjusted his tie.

"That's why they are harmless."

Murdoc gave a wry sort of smile. From his position across the room he assessed whether the terrarium was properly closed. He didn't want any of the snakes slithering out.

The phone rang. The man let the machine answer it.

"Hi, it's sis. I'm heading down to Phoenix. I got this old address of someone that I knew. Just so you know in case you don't hear from me for a few days."

Satisfied with the security of the box of snakes Murdoc looked up. _Someone that I knew? Who could that be?_ Murdoc didn't have any close friends. Most people he knew intimately, or well on any scale, were dead. Most other people he kept at bay. _Someone I knew, may know something I don't._ He should look into that; it might prove rewarding.

"Any other rooms on this floor?"

"Well, there's the garage."

"Show me."

The garage was a double containing the usual garage sale junk and a station wagon parked in the middle.

"That reminds me," the man said. "I got those papers Ange said you needed in the car."

He left Murdoc alone in the garage for a moment. When he returned Murdoc stood in the same position his hands behind his back. The man unlocked the car door and got in. He bent over, apparently looking for something underneath the passenger seat. Murdoc walked closer and made sure his gloves were on properly. The man had found what he was looking for and got up. Before turning he already had a foot out the door.

"Here it is," he said. He was startled a moment by how close Murdoc stood.

Murdoc took advantage of his surprise and took a firm grip on his neck tie.

"What the hell?" The man dropped the papers and grabbed his tie with one hand to counter Murdoc's pulling. He grabbed for Murdoc's tie, but it came off in his hand.

"Clip on," Murdock said. "It's such a tacky accessory."

Like any man in the face of danger the adrenaline rushed through the home owner, and though Murdoc assessed he had very little meat on the bones, he put up quite a struggle. Murdoc, however, was no stranger to adrenaline rushes. He clenched his teeth and using the car as leverage he pulled the driver up by his neck tie. The man looked at him with fearful eyes.

"What are you doing?" he croaked.

Murdoc didn't reply. It seemed obvious to him what he was doing. Still holding on to the tie he used his other hand to pinch the man's wind pipe closed.

Not much later her felt the man get weaker. His hands relaxed their grip on his tie. Murdoc let go of the more or less unconscious man. He fell back into his seat.

Murdoc picked up his own tie from the ground and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He checked the imprints he had made on the man's throat. He took the man's right hand and used it to apply pressure to the same points. Would a pathologist believe that a man would try to strangle himself using his neck tie and his hands? It would show how desperate that man was to die.

Murdoc got the car keys from the car door and after putting both the man's feet into the car he turned on the ignition. He left the door open. Too bad he didn't bring his camera. He remembered something he had seen in the den.

Murdoc went back into the house. First he got the wrong door and ended up in the kitchen. He smiled to himself when he saw the message board again. He wiped out the shopping list that had been started there and wrote on it in capital letters: I loved you all my life, that's how I want to end it.

From the kitchen he knew which door lead to the den. Something stirred in the snake terrarium. Murdoc shivered. He tried to ignore the snakes. He had only one business in the den: to grab the Polaroid camera on the shelf and get out.

Back in the garage he took two Polaroid pictures of the man in the car. Then he quickly got out of the garage. He didn't need to suffocate himself. He pocketed the pictures. He went back to the living room and left the camera on a side table. It was not his original place, but he wasn't going back into the den. At the mirror by the front door he put his tie back so he would look the part again. When he stepped out of the house, he noticed a neighbor mowing his lawn using a noisy motor lawn mower. _Perfect._

-oOo-

Murdoc drove the car back down town and left it at another restaurant that offered valet parking. He walked a couple of blocks and then hailed a taxi. Murdoc sank into the seat. He closed his eyes. For some reason he was getting the shivers from the cabdriver's mullet.


	4. Bird on the Wire

_The story is set after the events depicted in _Obsessed_, but before Murdoc's last phone call._

-oOo-

Murdoc dragged himself out of the stream and lowered himself on the rocky shore. He tried not to howl with pain. He only partly succeeded: he managed to keep the volume down. He closed his eyes. There wasn't a body part that didn't ache, throb, tingle, burn, or felt otherwise like a pin cushion. Wasn't the human body supposed to concentrate on the worst pain and numb out everything else? Apparently, his body hadn't decided yet which was the worst pain.

He opened his eyes to take inventory of the damages. The bright sunlight made him close his eyes again. He didn't need them to assess the throbbing in his head: head injury, possibly a concussion. His lungs hurt when he tried to breath in; his lungs hurt when he tried to breath out. At least one broken rib, a few others bruised. His right shoulder dislocated; first, perhaps second degree burns on his hands and forearms; and a sprained ankle. Oh good, an injury that didn't require immediate medical attention.

He should get up, but he was in no condition to move. He listened to his own weasing breath. Perhaps he should stay here. He deserved to die. They had played him like a fiddle. Both of them. He was no longer the man he used to be: hitman with a spotless record. He was a joke.

"All that I can be," he muttered, "is a marionette. A rag-doll." He grimaced. A rag-doll indeed. Tossed aside and now bent in odd places.

-oOo-

Murdoc opened his eyes again. A long shadow fell over his face. He assessed he had been out for at least a few hours. Some of the throbbing and aching had subsided to a dull pain, making the pain in his chest and forearms more intense.

He pushed himself up on his good arm. Sitting up, with his other arm in his lap, he slowly started to loosen his tie. With one hand and his teeth he managed to tie it into a sling for his other arm. His shoulder had been dislocated before, and he would have been able to pop it back under normal circumstances. At the moment his muscles were too cramped up to even attempt it.

Murdoc stared across the stream and contemplated his options. Option one was try to get to an open road before darkness fell and hope to get a lift there. Flaws in that plan were: he had no idea if and where there would be a road, and whether anyone would give him a lift in this disheveled state. Option two was to make a camp out here and try to find the road in the morning. Flaw in that plan: he didn't think he could survive the night without medical attention. Option one it was.

A bird fluttered down and sat on the wire on the other side of the stream. Murdoc cocked his head slowly. He hadn't seen the wire yet. He squinted his eyes. A plain iron wire attached to little poles. Murdoc smirked and then had a coughing fit. A wire was good. Where there were wires civilization was near and where there was civilization there were roads.

Murdoc scrambled up. He waded across the stream. He nearly fell twice. He decided to follow the wire down the stream. He thought that would be his best bet to find a road.

-oOo-

When Murdoc opened his eyes he saw a pair of shoes. The thumping headache had returned. He strained his neck to look up. The shoes belonged to a person. A person that decided to squat down.

"Are you alright?" The man sounded concerned.

"If I were all right I would give you a witty retort to that question."

"You don't look alright."

Murdoc smirked in reply.

"Come, I'll get you to a doctor." The man grabbed Murdoc by his arm and started to pull him up. Murdoc howled out in pain. The man dropped his arm.

"Dislocated shoulder. Please, try to help me up in another way."

The man managed to get Murdoc up into a sitting position and then on his feet. With Murdoc's good arm draped around his shoulder, half carrying him, he walked him to his pick-up truck and put Murdoc in the passenger seat.

Murdoc passed out again before the man had even started the engine.

-oOo-

Her perfume was nice. A little exotic, Murdoc noted. Something a woman with a darker skin would wear. He felt his shoulder being nudged and opened his eyes. He was glad to see that his expectation about the wearer of the perfume had been correct. She had light-brown skin and grey-green eyes.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she said. "But I had to. You have a concussion."

"Have you been taking care of me? Thank you."

"My husband did most of the work."

"Where is he? I would like to thank him too."

"He's down in his surgery. I will pass on your gratitude." The woman stroked some wrinkles out of her skirt. "I should leave you now. You need your rest."

She left the room and softly closed the door. Murdoc wondered for a moment about why she had appeared to be nervous. Perhaps it was the uniform he had been wearing when he was first brought in. Murdoc closed his eyes and let the drowsiness caused by the painkillers overflow him. His eyes flashed open. Morphine always gave him nausea, but he wasn't feeling nauseous now. Why had the doctor given him something else? Not that he minded much. He was pleased someone had taken care of his shoulder, his arms and his chest. He was just curious, but not so curious that it kept him awake long.

-oOo-

When he woke up again the first thing he saw was the Sig Sauer pointed at him. He looked at the man sitting in the corner of the room holding the gun.

"Cameron."

"Murdoc," the man replied coldly.

"I thought you were dead."

"I could say the same."

"Are you the one who patched me up?"

"Hippocratic oath. I was obliged to."

"Thank you. Are you going to kill me now?"

"That depends. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Murdoc looked at Cameron for a moment studying the grim determination in his face. "I've retired from HIT," he said.

"What are you doing here?"

"My retirement scheme fell through."

Cameron lowered his weapon a little.

"Yours seems to be going all right. Nice set up you've got have here. I think I saw your wife earlier. She's lovely."

Cameron raised his gun again. "Don't go there, Murdoc," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm not." Murdoc tried to raise his hands to show he had no mal intentions, but found them to be handcuffed to the bed.

"A little safety precaution."

"Understandable. But I didn't come here for you. I didn't even know you were here. I have no intent to disrupt this little idyll."

The two men stared at each other again, each trying to determine whether the other could be trusted for the moment. Cameron lowered the gun.

"Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"I'll ask my wife to make you something." Cameron got up and left the room.

That would explain why the doctor hadn't used morphine. Murdoc smirked for as much as his face would allow it. Sometimes it was good to have old acquaintances. Cameron seemed to have built up a good life since he retired. At least he was very defensive of it. Murdoc felt a pang of jealousy. His life could have been like this.

He should have stayed in retirement after he retired two years ago. Instead he got bored and thought he needed the money. So golf wasn't his thing. Lots of people don't like golf. They go on around the world trips when they retire. He could have done that. He could have called Spider and asked her if she wanted to come along.

He should have done that. Instead he had tried to get back with HIT and got burned. Then he tried to be self-employed and got burned even more. He should see this as a wake-up call: he was getting too old for his job. What did he have to show for it anyway? Unlike Cameron there was nothing in his life he would defend even against an unarmed bedridden man.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in?" Murdoc looked in surprised at the door. He smiled when he saw the woman from before enter the room. She was carrying a tray.

"Jack said you might be hungry." She put the tray on the bedside table. Then she helped Murdoc to sit up and put some extra pillows in his back.

"It smells wonderful. It's not chicken soup."

"Did you want to have chicken soup?" She picked up the plate and a fork and sat down on the side of the bed.

"Isn't that traditional?"

"I've always hated to eat chicken soup when I was sick. My stomach was feeling awkward enough without adding more fluids to it."

Murdoc smiled. "What's your name?"

"Jack doesn't want me to share any personal information with you." She held a fork with a bit of food, some carrots and chicken, in front of his mouth.

Murdoc opened his mouth to receive the food. "I understand," he said after swallowing. "Can I tell you you are a good cook?"

"You can, but you would be wrong." She offered him another forkful. "I've overcooked the carrots."

"They're excellent. Just what my sore throat needs."

She smiled in reply. They continued the meal without talking.

Cameron was right, Murdoc thought. He got himself a proper job, a lovely wife, who would feed him overcooked carrots when he was sick. This was the life Murdoc had wanted. The life he could have had if he had made different choices. With Spider, with Penny, with Suzanne. Murdoc felt a lump forming in his throat. He shook lightly to ward off the next bite of food.

The woman put the fork down on the plate. "Have you had enough?"

He mustered up a smile. "It was lovely. Thank you."

She got up to put the plate back on the tray. "Come. I'll help you with the pillows so you can lie back down and get some rest."

"Thank you."

Murdoc stared at the door for a while after she had left. He should have gotten himself a loving wife years ago.

-oOo-

A few days later Murdoc woke up and found he was in a moving car and blindfolded. At least he wasn't stuffed in the trunk of the car. His hands were handcuffed to the car door, but that didn't surprise him much.

"Could you at least take off the blindfold? I feel like I'm being kidnapped."

A hand went behind his head and a moment later the blindfold dropped. Murdoc blinked his eyes a few times. It was night.

"You don't tread lightly."

"A habit I picked up in a previous life," Cameron replied.

"Why are we moving?"

"I want you out of my house. The blindfold was so you wouldn't remember the way back."

"You're afraid I might hurt your little family."

"You're dangerous. We can't have that."

"Why don't you just kill me?"

"Who says I'm not going to kill you?" Cameron showed him the gun he kept in the side of the door.

"You wouldn't be able to look your wife in the eye again if you did."

Cameron snorted. "Don't presume you know me, Murdoc."

"I don't," Murdoc replied. "I envy you," he added after a few minutes of silence. "I envy you. You got out of the business and stayed out. I've never managed that."

"You just didn't try hard enough."

A muscle in Murdoc's face twitched. He tried to shift his position.

"Are you going to leave HIT now?"

"They have terminated my contract."

Cameron glanced over at him his eyebrows raised. "I _am_ surprised you are still alive."

"Oh, it was nothing. They sent some kind of amateur after me." He tried to shrug it off and turned his head to stare out of the window. It was dark and there was not much to see in the light of the car headlights.

They drove on in silence. Murdoc closed his eyes and tried to imagine if the situation were reverse: he was driving somewhere to dispose of Cameron and then he would go back to his wife who would welcome him with a hug and a warm bed. He smiled.

"What are you smiling about?" Cameron asked.

"I was thinking what it would be like if I had your life. A loving wife waiting for me when I come home."

Cameron looked at him for a moment. "It's not too late to change," he said turning his eyes back to the road.

"I hope not," Murdoc replied. He closed his eyes again to continue his fantasy.

Cameron pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop and stopped the car. "This is as far as we go." He pulled his gun from the side of the door and poked Murdoc between the ribs with it. With his other hand he unlocked the handcuffs. Then he pulled open the car door. "Out. I'm sure you can catch a ride with one of these truckers."

Murdoc scrambled out of the car. "Thanks for the lift."

"Good luck with your new life."

"Thank you." Murdoc smirked. He closed the door and Cameron drove off.

Murdoc turned around. His new life would start as soon as one of these truckers woke up to leave. He strolled towards the building and passed a pay-phone. Well, perhaps one little phone call, a last goodbye to his old life. He picked up the receiver and smirked as he punched in the number.


End file.
